Enlightening Conversation Or Lack Thereof
by Mana Angel
Summary: Tsunade and Jiraiya, one very early morning. Discussion of proper hygiene ensues. The Godaime thinks, and the frog-nin doesn’t.


A request drabble from the esteemed lynnxlady. She's writing me something back. ^_^ 

Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever. Naruto and all its glorious messed up people are the intellectual property of Masashi Kishimoto.

Title: 

Author: Mana Angel

For: lynnxlady

Fandom: Naruto

Situation: None given.

Characters: Jiraiya and Tsunade

Pairings: Jiraiya/Tsunade, in a vague way.

Dialogue: "I'll do it tomorrow."

Rating: PG-13 (For references to alcohol use, prostitution(or at least not-so-innocent entertainment) and an odd perspective on Tsunade's power as Godaime.) 

Summary: Tsunade and Jiraiya, one very early morning. Discussion of proper hygiene ensues. The Godaime thinks, and the frog-nin doesn't.

Notes: Posted here with lynnxlady's blessing. Yesh.

Tsunade knows it's him when he enters the room, because he's the only one she knows that wears the stench of cheap sake and crowded rooms around him like a favorite cloak. Despite the odor's… invasiveness, she reluctantly acknowledges that it's not entirely unpleasant, just rather…manly. Mind, knowing this doesn't stop her from wrinkling her nose and wishing he'd at least jump into those baths he's so fond of before dropping by. Aside from the other scents, the ones she's grown accustomed to over long acquaintance, he reeks of woman, the kind as cheap as, if not more than, the sake. 

For some reason, the smell irritates her. She dearly wishes she could haul him out of Konoha by the ear and dump him into the nearest river, just to wash off the putrid-smelling mix of rancid cologne and perfumed face powder. Maybe she could've done that when she was younger, an overconfident young ninja who'd gotten along with her teammates as well as a fighting fish dunked into an aquarium along with a moray eel and a guppy for company.

She certainly can't do that now. Little Tsunade the tomboy's grown into a respectable, albeit _ancient_ old crab hitting 50 and maybe higher, and happens to have been declared the new Hokage to boot. She knows that maybe, if she feels like a display of just who's in charge around here, she can always _order_ Jiraiya to go and scrub himself to the bone if need be. He probably hasn't taken a bath in the past decade – or maybe he has, because even the best ninja can't get around unnoticed if they develop body odor with a personality of its own.

But… it's a petty enough issue, really, and he's never been one to be bound by words. Besides, Tsunade feels a sick twist in her gut when she contemplates the possibility – she's never been one to give orders with grace, and knowing that her instructions, unless changed by _her_ command, will be followed exactly as she dictates is… dizzying. Maybe Orochimaru feel this way with his subordinates – and that parallel alone is enough to stop her from opening her mouth to give Jiraiya a frosty verbal slap for his slovenly ways.

Instead she says, "Good morning." It is, although it's barely past midnight. "Shut the door, please." 

He half-shuffles, half-lurches into the room, attempting to accomplish the task of closing the door behind him despite a remarkable lack of coordination. Damn door, he thinks fuzzily, trying to find the handle and instead constantly smacking his hand into the translucent paper that stretches over the frame. After about a minute or so, another hand slides into his vision, and it's certainly not his and it's got slender fingers and – oh mercy, neon green nails?

Tsunade's decided that Jiraiya requires aid to accomplish the arguably mundane task of shutting a slide door, if only to prevent the fragile architecture from getting any more holes punched through it as the drunken nin attempts to locate the handle. With a motherly sigh she slides the door for him, hooks her arm around his, and gingerly steers him to the immaculate sofa set in the 'visitor's section' of her office. All Jiraiya can offer in the way of intelligent conversation are a few muttered words, the rest a fast-paced mumbling. Tsunade ignores this, because she's dealt with a lot of drunks in her time, and suddenly appearing to have grown talkative to one's abandoned imaginary friends is nothing to fuss about. After a few tentative moments, she gently lets him go to stand on his own, though he'll probably collapse onto the sofa. Jiraiya has an annoying penchant for becoming clear-headed at the worst times. 

This apparently isn't one of those, because no sooner has she released her hold than he's toppling like a particularly ungainly chunk of timber, albeit one which also happens to be tittering like a fresh, untrained genin. Tsunade instinctively grabs at him, managing to latch a hand into his mop of off-white hair. She grimaces at the overly greasy feel of the strands as her fingers slip through them and then stop with a jerk when they get entangled in a snag of hair. No, Jiraiya doesn't seem to care for his poor locks too much.

The rough tugging at his scalp seems to restore him to some measure of sense, and with a yelp and something suspiciously close to a whimper, he twists his mane out of Tsunade's grasp. "That hurt!" he snaps peevishly, unconsciously scooting away a good few meters and gingerly massaging his aching head. Tsunade's a very strong woman.

"If your hair hadn't been so tangled up, it wouldn't have!" she snaps, arms akimbo in the mute despair of exasperated females everywhere. "Taking a bath's not _that_ hard…" The comment is muttered and not quite meant for his ears, but Jiraiya still flushes uncomfortably and digs a toe into the mat as both of them briefly glance into Memory Lane – an unkempt, un_sanitary_ Jiraiya grins back, his rat's nest of hair inspiring all sorts of unpleasant mental images involving lice, dandruff, and ticks. On cue, both adults blanch and shudder. A good thing Jiraiya's discovered the wonders of a shower stall and how much a good bath could remarkably raise his social standing.

"I'll… alright," he finally agrees, still looking vaguely embarrassed. "I'll do it tomorrow." After all this time, Tsunade still has the power to wrap him around her little finger and bend him ever-so-slightly to her will. Jiraiya sometimes thinks that if Orochimaru hadn't been involved, he would've left her living out her reckless, madcap life, gambling away her money, her time, and occasionally, her clothes. At the thought of the latter, he surreptitiously glances at Tsunade's ample, cloth-covered chest. His old habits die hard.

Apparently, so do Tsunade's, because she automatically decks him upside the head. Gently, of course – her fists have been know to break buildings, much less jaws and bone. "It's already 'tomorrow,' you moron," she scolds. "If you keep that promise, you're not going to get your hair untangled for another day."

Jiraiya just blinks at her, as though he doesn't understand her, which is more than likely because quite frankly she doesn't understand _herself_. And so Tsunade gives in to the genin inside her screaming for a hygienic companion. "Come on." She says.

And before Jiraiya can protest, Tsunade reaches out, grabs him by the ear, and proceeds to haul his sorry drunken butt over to the river.


End file.
